


Potato Latkes

by mrkinch



Category: X-Men (Movies), X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Canon Disabled Character, Gen, Hanukkah, Mansion!fic, Post DoFP, fandom hanukkah challenge 2014, potato latkes, working to make it work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-17
Updated: 2014-12-17
Packaged: 2018-03-01 20:16:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2786282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrkinch/pseuds/mrkinch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>not all potato latkes are created equal</p>
            </blockquote>





	Potato Latkes

**Author's Note:**

> For fandom hanukka challenge 2014. Thank you, [katiaswift](http://katiaswift.tumblr.com/post/104728289241/but-katia-you-say-what-in-the-world-is-a-fandom) for making this challenge! 
> 
> I have no idea how Charles and Erik came to be alone in the mansion in December, but they are.

This was the first December they had spent in the same place, even less a place they might both think of as home. Charles, still at pains for Erik to feel this _was_ his home, had made an inconvenient but determined visit to the local kosher delicatessen for potato latkes. In the past nearly a year Erik had admitted once or twice that the deli was “not bad”, which experience enabled Charles to translate as within hailing distance of as good as his mother used to make. Except, apparently, their latkes.

“They certainly smell wonderful.” Charles wistfully eyed the thick, potatoey cakes, still slightly warm, sitting stolidly in the carton open on his lap. His stomach rumbled.

“Potatoes and onions always smell wonderful,” Erik scoffed. “These weren’t even fried in a proper oil”.

Charles’s heart sank, and Erik appeared to relent, bending to kiss him. It was a small but welcome comfort, and distracted Charles more than long enough for Erik to whisk the carton off Charles’s lap and into the trash. He waved off Charles’s outraged, “Hey!”

“Just stay out of my way for an hour.” Erik tapped his forehead. “There is sour cream and applesauce, I trust?”

***

When Charles rolled into the dining room a little before the appointed time he was bemused to find the table laid with unaccustomed formality, china and crystal, napkins and silver service. Sheer hunger saved him from thinking himself into a dither over possible implications, and he was contemplating a desperate assault on the applesauce when Erik entered from the kitchen in a cloud of warm air, redolent of onion with the barest whiff of olive oil. He carried an enormous platter he must have pulled down from some china cabinet Charles had completely forgotten, upon which bits of golden brown peeked from between folds of snowy dish towel. Erik set the platter before Charles with what might have been a flourish and seated himself, looking at Charles expectantly.

Charles took the hint and lifted the cloth. For a moment they sat silently, Charles gazing in wonder at the layers of crisp, lacey latkes but acutely aware that Erik was gazing rather at him. Then Erik took up the great silver fork and carefully served them both. They unfolded their napkins in unison and Erik passed Charles the sour cream.


End file.
